He strode out into the night, hating the crimp, these detestable methods of getting enough men. Despite the hardships of naval life, there were plenty of volunteers. But there were never enough. Death by many means, and injury by many more, saw to that.
Stockdale asked, 'Where, sir?'
'A place called Lucy's.'
One of the seamen chuckled. 'Oi bin there, zur.'
Bolitho groaned. 'Then you lead. Carry on.'
Once in the narrow, sloping street which stank like an open sewer, Bolitho split his men into two groups. Most of the trusted hands had done it before several times. Even pressed men, once settled in their new life, were ready enough to bring the Navy's rough justice to the fore. If we have to go, why not you! seemed to be their only yardstick.
Stockdale had vanished to the rear of the building, his cutlass in his belt and carrying instead a cudgel as big as a leg of pork.
Bolitho stood for a few more seconds, taking deep breaths while he stared at the sealed door, beyond which he could hear someone crooning quietly like a sick dog. They were probably sleeping it off, he thought grimly. If they were there at all.
He drew his hanger and smashed the pommel against the door several times, shouting, 'Open, in the King's name!'
The response was immediate. Shuffles and startled cries, the muffled tinkle of breaking glass followed by a thud as a wouldbe escaper fell victim to Stockdale's cudgel.
Then the door was flung open, but instead of a rush of figures Bolitho was confronted by a giant of a woman, whom he guessed to be the notorious Lucy. She was as tall and as broad as any sailorman, and had the language to match as she screamed abuse and waved her fists in his face.
Lanterns were appearing on every hand, and from windows across the street heads were peering down to enjoy the spectacle of Lucy routing the Navy.
'Why, you poxy young bugger!' She placed her hands on her hips and glowered at Bolitho. -Ow dare you come accusin' me of 'arbouring deserters!'
Other women, some half-naked, were creeping down a rickety stairway at the back of the hallway, their painted faces excited and eager to see what would happen.
'I have my duty.' Bolitho listened to his own voice, disgusted with the jeering woman, humiliated by her contempt.
Stockdale appeared behind her, his face unsmiling as he wheezed, 'Got'em, sir. Six, like 'e said.'
Bolitho nodded. Stockdale must have found his own way through the rear.
'Well done.' He felt sudden anger running through him. 'While we're here we shall take a look for more innocent citizens.'
She reached out and seized his lapels, and pursed her lips to spit into his face.
Bolitho got a brief view of bare, kicking legs and thighs as Stockdale gathered her up in his arms and carried her screaming and cursing down the steps to the street. Without further ado he dropped her face down in a horse trough and held her head under the water for several seconds.
Then he released her, and as she staggered, retching and gasping for breath, he said, 'If you talks to the lieutenant like that again, my beauty, I'll take my snickersnee to yer gizzard, see?'
He nodded to Bolitho. 'All right now, sir.'
Bolitho swallowed hard. He had never seen Stockdale behave like it before.
'Fr, thank you.'
He saw his men nudging each other and grinning, and tried to assert himself. 'Get on with the search.' He watched the six deserters lurching past, one holding his head.
From one of the other houses an anonymous voice yelled, 'Leave 'em be, you varmints!'
Bolitho entered the door and looked at the upended chairs, empty bottles and scraps of clothing. It was more like a prison than a place for pleasure, he thought.
Two additional men were brought down the stairs, one a
lobster fisherman, the other protesting that he was not a sailor
at all. Bolitho looked at the tattoos on his arms and said softly, 'I suggest you hold your tongue. If, as I suspect, you are from a King's ship, it were better to say nothing.' He saw the man pale under his sunburn, as if he had already seen the noose.
A seaman clattered down the stairs and said, 'That's the lot, sir. 'Cept for this youngster.'
Bolitho saw the youth being pushed through the watching girls and decided against it. Probably someone's young son, out on an errand, seeking a first thrill in this foul place. i'I I ~ II' 'Very well. Call the others.'
He looked at the youth, slim-shouldered, eyes downcast and in shadow.
'This is no place for you, boy. Be off, before something worse happens. Where do you live?'
When there was no reply, Bolitho reached out and lifted the other's chin, allowing the lantern light to spill over the frightened face.
He seemed to stand locked in the same position for an age, and yet he was aware of other things happening elsewhere. The feet shuffling on the cobbles as his men sorted their new hands into file, and the distant shout of orders as a military patrol approached from the end of the street.
°t hen events moved swiftly. The figure twisted away and was out and through the door before anyone could move.
A Lieutenant's Lot log
A seaman bellowed, 'Stop that man!' And along the street Bolitho heard a challenge from the soldiers.
Bolitho ran out shouting, 'gait!' But it was too late, and the crash of the musket seemed like a cannon in the narrow street.
He walked past his men and stood over the sprawled figure as a corporal of infantry ran forward and rolled the body on to its back.
'Thought 'e was escapin from you, sir!'
Bolitho got down and unbuttoned the youth's rough jerkin and shirt. He could feel the skin, still hot and inflamed, and very smooth like the chin had been. There was blood too, glittering in the lantern light as if still alive.
Bolitho ran his hand over the breast. There was no heart-beat, and he could feel the dead eyes staring at him in the darkness. Hostile and accusing.
He stood up, sickened. 'It's a girl.'
Then he turned and added, 'That woman, bring her here.'
The woman called Lucy edged closer, gripping her hands together as she saw the sprawled corpse.
Gone was the bluster and coarse arrogance. Bolitho could almost smell her terror.
He asked, 'Who was she?' He was surprised at the sound of his own voice. Flat and unemotional. A stranger's. 'I'll not ask a second time, woman.'
More noises echoed along the street, and then two mounted figures cantered through the army patrol, and a voice barked, `What the hell is going on here?'
Bolitho touched his hat. 'Officer of the guard, sir.'
It was a major, who wore the same insignia as the man who had shot the unknown girl.
'Oh, I see. Well then.' The major dismounted and stooped over the body. 'Bring that lantern, Corporal!' He put his hand
under the girl's head, letting it roll st'''y towards the beam.
Bolitho watched, unable to take his eyes from the girl's face.
The major stood up and said quietly, 'Fine kettle of fish, Lieutenant.' He rubbed his chin. 'I'd better rouse the governor. He'll not take kindly to it.'
'What is it, sir?'
The major shook his head. 'What you don't know will do you no harm.' He became businesslike as he snapped to the other mounted soldier, 'Corporal Fisher! Ride to the post and rouse the adjutant, I want him and a full platoon here on the double.' He watched the man gallop away and then added, 'This damned house will be dosed and under guard, and you,' his whitegloved finger shot out towards the shivering Lucy, 'are under arrest!'
